Safe Harbour
by Seas Incarnadine
Summary: Horatio and Archie stumble upon the perfect opportunity to share the night, but for Archie, finding the time for lovemaking is hardly half the battle. Horatio/Archie. Indie Husbands. M/M. Demisexual Horatio. TW: brief internalised homophobia, past sexual abuse, PTSD and internalised victim blaming.


_Safe Harbour_

By Seas Incarnadine

* * *

Horatio dropped the letter on the bedside table with a rueful sigh. He peered across the room and out through the grimy window, where he knew the _Indie_ to be lurking in the churning harbour, but nothing could be gleaned through the darkness and the squall haunting Portsmouth. By the time he'd come ashore that afternoon to deliver Pellew's message to a fellow captain, the shrieking winds and pelting hail had proved too dangerous to venture anywhere but the warm safety of an inn, even for one as recklessly optimistic as the lieutenant. Kennedy, who'd accompanied him on the modest mission, and who was far more eager to leave the letter until morning, had already peeled himself from his sodden uniform and was in the process of stripping off his stockings. They made a slick, smacking sound as he flung them over the footboard with unrepentant relief. Horatio finally gave up his search for the elusive battleship, and turned from the window to his shipmate. Seemingly of their own accord, his eyes meandered to Kennedy's newly exposed legs, white, shivering, and slick with rain, then trailed upwards to where his rumpled shirt dipped over his lap, wavering on the last outpost of modesty.

That wouldn't do.

The lieutenant snapped his gaze away and stalked to the fire huffing in the grate, grabbing Kennedy's stockings on the way. He draped them over the screen with the rest of their uniforms, which were making dismal little puddles on the floorboards. Horatio blinked furiously at the fire in an attempt to dislodge the sight of Archie's near-nakedness, but when it proved fruitless, he strode to the other side of the bed and began his own disheartened disrobing. It was bad enough they'd have to share a bed. It was bad enough they'd have to sleep in the nude, what with their clothes being sopping wet. Horatio certainly didn't need to make the situation any worse by allowing his eyes to wander, to let his interest spark and catch light. For the sake of a peaceful sleep, but also for the sake of his dearest friend.

Hornblower shucked off the last of his clothes with the clipped efficiency he'd learned aboard ship, and slid quickly beneath the covers. He was confident he'd keep his eyes in line this time, and chanced a cordial glance at his bedmate. Shirt now abandoned in a bedraggled heap on the floor, Kennedy had sunk below the blankets and was reclining against his pillow, the picture of languid comfort. His queue had been set free, hair lying in calligraphic waves against his shoulders, dripping speckles of water onto his collarbone to roll over his chest and into the linens. He smiled dozily in the dim light of the lamp. Hornblower returned the midshipman's smile in a way he hoped looked courteous, and not at all like he might combust.

"Well, goodnight Archie."

"'Night, Horatio."

Hornblower flipped brusquely onto his side, then hitched himself to the very edge of the mattress. Back to his bedmate, he stared resolutely at the dusty floor, propriety incarnate. A moment later Kennedy blew out the light, and they were swept into darkness.

But sleep would not come easily for Horatio. Cocooned in the fragile stillness of the bedroom, it seemed each of his senses had become tortuously alert. He'd never known such a sharpening of his body, except on the brink of battle. Hail lashed across the window, prickling his ears. A floorboard moaned forlornly from the hallway, and he clenched his teeth. The musty smell of the inn was thick on his pillow, threatening to smother, but at least it was mellowed by the soft scent of rain-washed skin drifting from the other side of the bed.

Archie.

All too keenly, Horatio felt the mattress dipping away just below his hip, sagging with the other's weight; a rocky precipice, with Horatio teetering at the lethal edge. He could hear every one of his shipmate's breaths, was straining for them, eating them up, even as he chided himself for his appetite. The man clamped his eyes shut, grasping for rest, but his thoughts were sails caught in a fair wind: billowing forwards, subject to nature's command. He imagined turning 'round beneath the blankets and reaching out to hold the other. Archie's skin would be soft, but cold from the storm. Horatio would feel his ribs beneath his palms as he drew his lover close, count them gently, warm each ridge with gentle touches. Then Archie's lips would be there: at his cheek, his mouth, like so many times before, but not like before, because their bodies would be kissing too, ebbing and flowing and crashing.

Wanting, and wanting to be wanted, had eluded the lieutenant for many years. He'd never quite understood the vulgar jeers of the boys from the village, had never sympathised with the craving melodies belted by his men as they worked. The thirst of the flesh they so colourfully acclaimed had seemed like a fabled island from the tale of a drunken seaman, regaling his friends from the dingy corner of a tavern. A lush and magnificent Eden, with golden sands glittering beneath the sun: so splendid and removed from his experience that he couldn't come to believe it was real. At least, not for him. Then life changed. Hornblower joined the _Justinian._ He met Archie Kennedy, and came to consider him a friend. Then he considered him sweet-hearted. Then he considered him charming. Then, one day, quite suddenly, he considered him handsome.

It was a bit of a shock, but then it also felt like it had always belonged, like happening upon a gleaming button at the bottom of his sea trunk he never knew he'd missed. Where Archie's friendly gestures had been welcomed but inconsequential before, now Horatio memorised the feel of his fingers as they occasionally brushed his own, tucked away the memory of their heat like a precious and powerful charm. But it was only a week after the high of his dizzying discovery when its magnitude collapsed onto his shoulders, like a comet dazzling through the sky only to smash against the unforgiving earth. The touches he craved became twisted by guilt, and the sweetness of his love turned dark and bitter like dregs of Communion wine. Sometimes he could still taste it, that fear. Sometimes he worried what his captain might think if he knew what he was. Sometimes he wondered what God might think, although he'd hardly every worried over His opinions before. It always helped when Archie supplied those swift, pecking kisses during a moment alone, or when he combed his fingers through his curly fringe, or whispered teasingly into a shared breath. He and Archie carried the secret together, and between them it was half as heavy.

But Kennedy was prisoner to even greater burdens. Horatio had known of them, but only began to understand their monstrous shape many months after escaping the _Justinian_. It was the day the _Indie_ laid anchor on the English coast, when the orlop was blessedly deserted by their comrades in favour of women, warm hearths, and other such portside luxuries. For once, by some miracle, there were no impending duties, no footsteps closing in, and their bodies took notice. The men quickly became entangled. Horatio, though stubbornly audacious in the face of fire and Frenchmen, had never known he could be so daring in the arms of another. The intensity of the encounter fizzed through his chest and filled him to the brim like the ales he wasn't sorry he was missing. But then his excitement had impelled him to press Kennedy against the wall. Not with any aggression, nor any clear intention in his whirring mind, but it'd been enough.

It'd been enough.

Horatio's gut twisted at the memory. If he acted on his desires tonight, attended to this rare gift of privacy, he risked sending Archie into a storm far more perilous than the one at the window.

The lamp was on.

Horatio unstuck his eyes. It felt like he'd been lying there for eternity, but it must've only been a moment.

"To think, I almost let it slip my mind. Aren't you forgetting something, Mr. Hornblower?"

The lieutenant rolled over and blinked up at his shipmate, eyes stinging as they adjusted to the light. Archie was propped on an elbow, and his lamp-lit hair was a toffee-coloured halo around his smirking face.

"What have I forgotten?"

"My goodnight kiss," said Archie matter-of-factly. "I should think I deserve one after dragging you through that hurricane."

Horatio grinned, and the tension in his body was soothed by the familiar smile in his partner's eyes. He and Archie had exchanged many kisses since that day in the orlop. Surely one kiss would be alright, if he kept his hands to himself. One kiss would be safe.

"My apologies, Mr. Kennedy."

Archie sunk lazily to his pillow and Horatio shuffled forward. They both closed their eyes before meeting. The kiss was short, but long-awaited and tender. When they drew away they loitered in the space between apart and together, noses nearly bumping, until Horatio broke the silence.

"Your lips are still cold," he said in concern. His mind flashed to a Spanish evening. Horatio was hoisting his shipmate's prone body in the frigid rain, fingers digging into icy flesh as he begged mercy from their captors.

Archie didn't seem to read the memory in his friend's eyes. His gaze flickered to Horatio's own mouth, considering.

"I reckon you can think of how to warm them."

Hornblower cocked a brow in criticism of his frank flirtation. Still, he was more than willing to oblige. The next kiss was long and slow and grateful, like the contemplation of a rare sip of brandy at Pellew's table. Then their thirst for sweetness was satisfied, and the kiss turned more ardent. Horatio opened his lips for Kennedy's clever tongue. He made a keening noise into his shipmate's mouth, magnified against the quiet of the room, but before he could think to be embarrassed Archie swept him into another dance.

The lieutenant was afraid to touch his partner. He was terribly afraid, but it felt awkward not to anchor their kiss with contact. Hornblower clenched and unclenched his fist where it lay against the bed, craving an outlet for the energy suddenly welling through his body. Luckily for him, Kennedy was the first to move, and pressed a shy hand against his chest. The coolness of the midshipman's fingers raced across Hornblower's skin in an exhilarating chill. His nipples stood to attention, and Archie groaned his approval. Horatio summoned his gambling spirit and timidly cupped the other's face. He was elated when it went uncontested. The man's roving thumb drew circles over Archie's cheekbone, and he marvelled at the closeness they'd regained since their dire Spanish reunion. However, it wasn't a moment later when he registered the familiar neediness pooling between his legs. Horatio knew their 'goodnight kiss' threatened to tumble into something far less innocent if he didn't proceed with caution. He remorsefully dislodged his lips from Kennedy's and sucked in a sharp breath to clear the fog between his ears. Kennedy's eyes were unreadable in the blue-black shadows cast by the lamp, but he huffed a breath of contrite understanding.

"Archie…" breathed Horatio, quiet and careful. He lowered his hand to Kennedy's forearm and rubbed back and forth. "We should try to get some sleep, wouldn't you say?"

The midshipman said nothing, but splayed his fingers across Horatio's pectoral. Archie stared at them for a long while, as if memorising the pattern he made against the other's body. "I want this. I want… to try again. If you'd like."

Hornblower's heart gave a private surge of joy, then steeled with determination. He rested his hand over Archie's. "Tell me what you'd like," he whispered. "Tell me what you'd like me to do."

Archie didn't respond. He withdrew his hand, and turned onto his back to stare at the cracks in the ceiling. The sudden distance frightened Horatio. It felt too much like the times he'd been turned away in prison, when Kennedy had retreated so far from his promise of rescue that he'd stood at death's threshold. The healthy flush in Archie's skin and the lack of circles beneath his eyes did nothing to banish the distressing memory. Hornblower held his breath. Finally, Archie spoke.

"The light. It needs to stay on."

Horatio nodded, but Archie's eyes hadn't left the ceiling to notice, so he murmured his response.

"Yes."

"Nothing sudden, or… forceful."

"Yes."

"I need you in front of me. I need to see you."

"Yes."

"If I, um… If I need to stop, if I ask you to –"

"Yes."

Horatio slid his hand across the mattress and linked their fingers. The midshipman finally looked at his friend, and Horatio was smiling, eyes warm and mellow in the dim. Archie understood. His requests lay heavy in the air, confessions of a life he longed to forget, but he grinned back, fighting the sober mood.

"And don't be too loud, lest we confirm our neighbours' suspicions about the navy."

Horatio laughed despite the warning, a bright and nervous sound. Its trepidation didn't escape Archie, and he flipped back around to face the other.

"Horatio, may I ask you something?"

"Of course."

Archie licked his lips. He ducked his eyes to his partner's collarbone. "In… prison. The Duchess, or Miss Cobham, rather. Did you… ever…?" His voice trailed away, leaving Horatio to interpret the query. His eyebrows raised in scandalisation.

"I'm… not quite sure what you're insinuating, Archie, about the Duchess and myself, but… no. Nothing happened. Nothing of the sort. Of _any_ sort."

Archie tried to hide how pleased he was by the confession, but Horatio felt his sigh of relief mist against his chest.

"You know, Mr. Kennedy," he chided, too amused to sound convincingly offended, "despite what impressions you may have of me, I'm quite the gentleman."

Archie chuckled. "What would you call this, then? Would you call this gentlemanly behaviour?" He shuffled closer, highlighting his point.

Horatio hummed in fond exasperation. "You seem to bring out the worst in me."

"I'm not one bit sorry."

"Neither am I."

Kennedy squeezed the lieutenant's hand and dealt him a long, accessing look. Hornblower held Archie's gaze, his expression a jumble of anxiety and self-assurance: the exact one he wore when hauled in front of Captain Pellew to receive judgement for his brilliant catastrophes.

"You've never done this before."

"No."

"Fancy finding something Horatio Hornblower doesn't know how to do."

But there was no spite in his words, only teasing wonder. Kennedy untangled their fingers to clutch Horatio's shoulder, and drew his bedmate back into their wordless conversation. It wasn't long at all before they'd matched the pace Horatio had interrupted. Measured breaths turned to ragged puffs of air, snatched on the edge of urgent clashes. Hornblower's mind, so recently alert, was coaxed and smoothed into tremulous flashes of colour and heat. Whole thoughts were clipped into detached and fervent exclamations: _please – more – yes – Archie._ His hips began rocking in the empty space between their bodies, greedy for attention.

"Please, Horatio, can I – ?"

"Yes. Yes, Archie – "

Horatio couldn't cram out his agreement fast enough. He didn't know what he'd agreed to, but he knew he wanted it, that very moment. Without further ado, Kennedy pulled an arm around his waist and pressed their bodies flush together. A feeling whooshed through Hornblower's stomach like the aftershock of a cannonball meeting its target. He could feel Archie taunt against his middle, every inch as excited as himself, and his own member was thrust against a solid thigh. Horatio whimpered into the pulsing skin of Kennedy's throat. The heat beneath the blankets was incendiary, and Archie's hip was slippery with sweat where he grasped it in desperation. His chest suddenly felt too full. Hornblower opened his mouth against Archie's neck to let out whatever was swelling up inside, but then Archie slid their groins together, and all that came out was a moan.

"So sweet for me, my Horatio," said Kennedy, rambling a trail of honeyed words against his ear with kiss-swollen lips.

' _I love you,_ ' thought Horatio, bright and clear through the smoke, and he knew those were the words crowding his chest. ' _I love you, Archie. I love you, dearest, and I want to show you._ '

They began a rough rhythm, back and forth, back and forth, short and dragging motions to keep the ancient bed from creaking. Horatio received permission to slide his hand to Archie's backside, to crush their hips closer still. He thought he could come undone, just riding their clumsy tempo, scuffling chest-to-chest in the semi-dark, but his partner had other ideas.

"M-may I touch you?"

"Yes," was Hornblower's quick reply, more of a whining plea than he'd intended.

"Roll onto your back."

He did just that. The sheets were cool against his flushed skin, making him shiver. Archie was soon to follow, the topmost blanket moving with him like a veil to enshrine their bodies. He arranged his knees on either side of Hornblower's thighs and propped one hand on the pillow. Kennedy brushed his thumb over the shell of Horatio's ear and the lieutenant pressed into the simple affection, gazing up at the other. Archie's chest, made visible by the slipping sheets, was broader and sturdier than his own, with a soft-seeming appearance that belied the strength of heart that Horatio knew lay within. It pushed in and out with each uneven breath, ribs making arches against his chest every half-moment. Archie's face was all ambling shadows and ruddy glow in the light, his blue eyes diffused by lust, lips parted. Suddenly there was only one thought in Horatio's mind, and that was that Archie Kennedy was the most beautiful man he'd ever seen. Horatio stared in astonishment at his lover. He bit down on his lip and swallowed, tasting the salt from his shipmate's skin. He let his thighs fall further open, and that was all the encouragement Kennedy needed.

His hand met its mark, swift and firm.

Horatio nearly cried out with pleasure at the sudden press of fingers over his aching groin, at the perfect knowledge that it was _Kennedy_ taking him in hand, but stifled enough of the sound that it only came out as a breathy moan. Kennedy's eyes were trained on his face, hungry for his satisfied response. He trailed his fingertips up and down Hornblower's length and watched him squirm with delight.

"Goodness, you're – you –"

He couldn't seem to find the words, so he swooped down to kiss him instead. Horatio eagerly returned the gesture, making as though to swallow the compliments suspended on the tip of Kennedy's tongue. He looped his arms around the midshipman's neck to deepen the kiss, but soon grew impatient with his teasing fingers, which were only half as busy as his tongue.

Under other circumstances, Horatio might have been embarrassed to beg for what he wanted, but he found the more Archie touched him, the less he cared for decorum.

"More, Archie, please –!"

The midshipman grinned in agreement. He removed his hand, then refastened his fingers around the base of Horatio's shaft. A heartbeat later, he tugged one maddeningly tight stroke all the way from root to tip.

This time, Hornblower couldn't repress his voice. He shuddered, his hips bucked into Kennedy's hand, and a loud, sharp gasp burst from his throat.

Archie froze in Horatio's arms.

His fingers skittered to the lieutenant's thigh. He drew back his mouth. He leant back on his knees, breaking away completely.

In his sex-muddled state, Horatio was confused as to why he'd suddenly stopped, but Archie supplied the answer soon enough.

"Did I hurt you?"

His eyes were wide and bright.

Hornblower shook his head to alertness. His harsh gasp must have been mistaken for pain, he thought, and at the realisation he smiled. It seemed without saying that he was overwhelmingly pleased with the night's events.

"No, no, you didn't hurt me! That was – this is – wonderful," he assured, trying to catch his breath.

"Oh," said Archie. A pause. "Good. That's good."

But even as he tugged a smile onto his lips, the heat in his expression was cooling, molten metal shifting into a familiar, hard and darkened shape. Horatio recognised the foreboding sign, but fought the panic suddenly flaring in his stomach. Perhaps he could convince Kennedy of his enjoyment before it was too late. The man stretched out his arms in invitation, what he prayed to be a comforting grin on his face.

"It didn't hurt, I promise. Come and kiss me some more?"

Archie seemed equally as eager to be consoled as Horatio was to do the consoling. He leant back over his shipmate and met his lips anew, fervent, frantic, and for a moment Horatio thought they'd been saved. But soon he sensed the increasing distance in Kennedy's actions. Mouth divorced from mind, his body but a rusty mechanism left to spin on its hinges as his thoughts slunk into shadow. The cogs ground together, then came to a painful halt. The midshipman's kisses migrated to Horatio's neck, and there they surrendered and were replaced by clockwork breaths.

It was over, though Horatio, his stomach wrenching. Any moment the fit would take him. His brilliant sun was empty, and the night was close and cold around them. Horatio nuzzled his nose into Archie's blond hair and closed his eyes. He breathed the scent of his lover, grounded himself in love and patience. His hands enveloped the broad expanse of Archie's shoulders and began drawing long, looping circles.

"Everything's alright."

"I'm fine," came the dejected reply, muffled against Horatio's skin.

"No. No, you're not. But… I promise to you, Archie, I _promise_ that you haven't hurt me. Not ever."

There was a long moment of nothing but silence. Silence, and the hopeful dance of Hornblower's hands.

"Damn it, Horatio!"

Kennedy tore himself from the lieutenant and spun around in the bed. Back to his friend, face to the stormy night, he crushed his knees against his chest and dropped his head between them. Archie wrapped his pale arms around himself, like ropes to keep his body from falling away, to keep it to himself, to keep it whole. His vertebrae were sharp beneath the stretched skin of his back, looking strangely vulnerable and exposed. His hands were like claws where they gripped himself together.

"I want to! I want, so much… but then I thought… and I couldn't stop thinking –" His rough voice gave away his tears. "I always ruin everything! I'm always, just always, always –"

"Archie!"

Hornblower pulled himself from the covers and shuffled towards his friend with carefully measured composure. He rifled his mind for words to soothe, to repair, but knew that nothing he could ever say could suture wounds he could neither see nor feel, nor truly understand. He would try nonetheless.

"I'm sorry, Archie. I'm so sorry. I should have been more careful."

"This isn't your fault. You did nothing wrong. We both know… you know this is my fault. Always my fault."

"No, it's not. This is _not_ your fault."

Archie was so still. His fingernails bit deep into his arms, threatening to draw blood. The frantic terror of the fit lay lurking, but hadn't yet reared its head, thank God. Horatio imagined shrieks rending the quiet stillness of the inn, the pounding of the innkeeper's fist upon the door, their nakedness revealed, Archie's wounds laid bare. He prayed those horrors would escape them tonight. Yet, in a way, he thought that this was worse than any fit, this sudden exile to memory where Archie could neither live by day nor night, clutching at the edge of a scathing twilight.

"Horatio, you don't know how I _wish_ … I wish I could love you without a care in the world! I shouldn't be afraid. I shouldn't think such things when you touch me. When I touch you. You, of all people! Who's never done me wrong! But it sneaks up without warning, and when it does, there is nowhere I can hide. How do you hide from something so deep, so deeply written? You deserve someone who can love you properly. You deserve someone who isn't broken. I'm broken, Horatio, much as I try not to be, and I'll only break you in turn, if you stay with me."

And what words would be enough? The whole of Horatio's love was stuck in his throat. If only he could open his chest, and let the contents of his heart pour over Archie, to bandage him in every fond memory, to anoint him with each pang of joy he'd ever felt at the mere sight of his smile. There were certainly no words for it all. But still, he would try.

"Deserve? Archie, you are more than I deserve. Far more."

He bent forwards until his brow was pressed against the back of Kennedy's head. He wasn't sure how much he was allowed to touch, _if_ he was allowed to touch, not now. Archie flinched at the contact, but didn't push away. Horatio closed his eyes. The man's damp tresses were cool against his cheek, and a balm to his hot and stinging eyes.

"And you aren't broken. You're just… you. And, sometimes being you is hard. Sometimes it's _damn_ _hard_. Far harder than I can ever know. But I don't _want_ anyone else. Not anyone. Because even if we can't be… even if it's hard… I want _this_ , with all its bumps and edges. And I'd rather only kiss you and hold you and laugh with you for all the years of my life than never be yours, or you mine."

Archie began to shake then, with a steady and violent rhythm. Horatio thought the fit had finally triumphed, but realised with equal relief and dismay that he was trembling from his unvoiced sobs. They clattered through the whole of Archie's body like thunderclaps, over and over and over. Horatio blinked away the water in his eyes and counted the drumbeats, taking each one into his own chest. It was a long while before his friend regained his voice.

"I'm sorry. I don't – I don't want you to go."

"I won't. I won't go. I promise."

Hornblower pressed his lips to Archie's head, sealing his vow.

"For as long as you want me, I'll be here."

Archie seemed to be taking in his words, allowing them entrance to his heart bit by bit. The hands clutching his legs slowly went slack and fell to his sides, leaving scarlet crescents on his skin. Finally, finally, he turned to face his lover. Horatio was prepared for the anguish he had witnessed so many times in Archie's expression, but everything had been burnt out of the man, leaving nothing but bone-deep fatigue. His face was red and blotchy, cheeks shining with tear-tracks, and his eyes were like two coins lost to the bottom of a dark pool, glimmering through a murky veil. Horatio opened his arms instantly, and Archie fell into him like a dead weight. The lieutenant flooded with relief as the man tucked himself against his chest, as though a wayward part of his own body had found its way home.

"Archie," he whispered, because his mouth was full of his name, wanted to call it out, sweet syllables, again and again, until the ghosts were gone.

They rocked awhile in the bedsheets, just holding, feeling. Then Archie murmured against his chest: "We should get some sleep." Horatio agreed. They were both exhausted, and despite everything, tomorrow there would be duties, and life would travel onwards.

Archie always protested when Horatio 'coddled' him in the wake of an episode. Hornblower had once nursed him to health, and now Archie longed to prove he was capable of carrying himself, that he could be every bit as strong as Horatio seemed to be. Tonight, he allowed himself to be coaxed beneath the covers, the topmost blanket smoothed over his bare body, and a warm kiss pressed to his brow. Horatio could tell he had no energy to do anything else. The lieutenant followed him shortly. It was the second time he lay down to sleep that night, but much time and many things had passed, and the passion which had vexed him was replaced by something quiet, fragile and indescribably precious. Hornblower took Archie's hand as they both drifted closer to sleep.

"I love you," said Kennedy, his voice hushed at the edge of slumber.

"And I you," said Horatio.

Archie was beautiful when he slept. Yet, Hornblower knew that a great deal of the man's beauty lay beyond his physical form. It lay somewhere Horatio could feel with his heart rather than his hands. To Hornblower, Kennedy would always be sweet, and charming, and brave, no matter his body, and no matter if he shared it with his own.

The lieutenant was suddenly aware that the storm was still crashing loudly at their window, and that the light was on. His world had contained nothing but he and his shipmate, but now that all was over, the outside had slipped back into focus. He was reluctant to let go of Archie's hand, but carefully removed himself in order to put out the lamp. He rounded the bed and stooped over the light, but stopped mid-motion. Instead, he padded to the window.

It was jet-black beyond the inn and the sky was screaming in her wrathful language of ice and wind, but if Horatio strained hard enough, he thought he could make out the _Indie_ 's white sails billowed in the gale, like ashen smudges in the pitch. Horatio knew this was impossible, of course. The _Indie_ would have long since lowered her sheets, but still, her comforting image bled through the darkness for his weary eyes, a private phantom calling from the quay. In his mind's eye, she rocked on the waves, back and forth, back and forth, lulling him to sleep from the open palms of the sea.

There would be storms yet. Yes, there would be storms. And Horatio would crave to be touched, sometimes more than he would think he could bear, but no touch was worth the mighty terror of a tempest, black and intent in its destructive design. Perhaps sometime soon the clouds would lift from Portsmouth and a new adventure would be ready to be charted, all blue and cloudless and waiting, but for as long as that day never came, Horatio vowed to be a safe harbour for his errant ship, for it was his duty and his honour to bestow shelter upon the one he loved.

And so, Hornblower left the window. He crossed to the nightstand, and, with a silent laugh at Pellew's letter, put out the light. He slid back into place beside Archie and took his hand once more.

A storm raged in Portsmouth, but neither man could hear it from their dreams of one another.

* * *

I consider this story to be a revised version of my previous _Hornblower_ story, _Room at the Inn_. Hopefully it's an improvement.

 _Horatio Hornblower_ is a creation of C. S. Forester and Andrew Grieve. I claim no rights to the original content.


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